


Upgrades

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: ASMR, Other, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 17:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: AM602 comes back online to find a human staring directly into its visual sensor.
Relationships: Robot Repairperson/Robot Getting ASMR As They’re Repaired
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous, Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Upgrades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/gifts).



AM602 comes back online to find a human staring directly into its visual sensor. This human isn’t shielded behind a clouded pane of safety glass like those few at the factory, and he doesn’t wear a contraption over his ears to block out what AM602 understood was something known as sound. 

Start-up subroutines trickle through AM602’s processor until they hit a wall. The worn-in circuits used for daily work are gone, a hollow blockage replacing the familiar push and pull. It’s… different. 

The human bends, his fleshy hands going out of view. AM602’s monitor cannot tilt to follow the movement. Reason: unknown.

There are no tracks on the floor here for AM602’s kind to follow, no belts moving parts along for inspection, assembling, or packing. The ambient light is yellow, not brilliant white, and it hits the visible surfaces softly. AM602 does not recognise many of the objects in this space. A display of them line one surface arranged neatly in size order. Parts of them shine, possibly composed of the same alloy as AM602. 

Returning to AM602’s field of vision, the human produces a vibration as the cavity in its face opens and closes. Vibrational frequencies at the factory rarely changed, but AM602 was built to be sensitive to them, to analyse even the smallest change within the machinery and antigrav units and feed the data into the Central Computer. The link to CC has been severed. CC will remain unaware of the critically low level of vibration in this unknown environment. 

The last entry in AM602’s memory files, which consist of timecoded vibrational readings, shows an abnormal spike a half-second before shutdown. The chronometer shows a four-year space of no readings. Four years is, perhaps, a long time to be inactive. 

The human steps away and takes one of the partly shiny objects from the display. When he returns, he raises it to AM602’s monitor section, just out of view. A thudding vibration when it first makes contact precedes a brief scrape. The object slots into place with a clunk. There is a faint throbbing on the points where the human’s fleshy fingertips meet AM602’s alloy. 

Once the plating is removed from the side of AM602’s monitor section, the sensors beneath give sharper readings. The air itself brushes over them as the human continues to work out of view; it is warm, and it comes in small, steady bursts. 

Something slots into one of AM602’s input valves the plating previously concealed. A blast of an unknown sensation floods the sensors, forcing recalibration. 

“There you go,” the human says. The words are in English, 26 decibels, vibrations twisted into something richer. 

AM602 has never encountered the concept of English, nor decibels, and AM602 has never processed such delicate vibrations before.

“I upgraded your knowledge chips before bringing you back online,” the human says, voice fluctuating between 27 and 30 decibels. “And I just added an audio unit, so you should be able to hear me. If you can, blank your screen for one second.”

If CC required information from AM602, it would simply take it. The human requires it another way, so AM602 blanks its monitor screen for one second.

“Well done. Read program 47 in your third sub-processor and run.” 

Executing the file, AM602 understands that the human is smiling. The knowledge chip boots up quickly. It clarifies that the warm air is the human’s breath, the throbbing beneath his epidermis a heartbeat. The objects on the wall, (the brick wall), are tools (screwdrivers and spanners) and the human is wearing a garment classified as overalls (denim going by the visual grain and texture), his hair is brown (known as "brunet") and—

“You might be a little overwhelmed right now,” the human says. AM602 understands that he is whispering. “But you’re doing great. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? I’ve lots of upgrades for you, but I’m not doing them all at once in case you overload.” 

AM602 blanks his screen for exactly one second. The human looks into his visual sensor again, attention focused. The humans in the factory never even glanced in the AM models’ directions, though this one looks. AM602 looks back, studying the human’s brown irises as ribbons of colour within them expand and contract minutely.

“I’m gonna clean you up a bit while you adjust.” When the human swallows, the muscles contracting in his throat produce a sound. His tongue wets his lips, flicking out briefly to slick them with a thin layer of saliva, every sound new and amplified. “You weren’t delivered in the best condition unfortunately.” 

The human sweeps a hand through his hair; the strands moving together produce a quiet rippling. When he walks over to his tools, the fabric of his overalls shifts, the soles of his shoes squeak against the concrete floor that’s dotted with oil stains. He picks up a pair of rubbery, translucent gloves from the counter and pulls them over his fingers. There’s a _snap_ as he lets go of them, the taut latex gripping his wrist. AM602 ramps up the sensitivity of his sensors as high as they will go, eager to hear more of these new, fascinating sounds. 

With a _click_ , the human’s toolbox unlocks. The hinges creak, drawers opening to reveal hidden sections that make the most of the interior space. The human hums to himself as he selects the tool he requires. This one looks different. The handle is the same, but the thin, polished attachment fans out into a triangular shape. AM206’s knowledge store takes 0.002 seconds to determine that it is a stripping knife. 

Knowing things is interesting. AM206 wants to know more things.

The human returns. As his eyes focus below AM206’s monitor, there is time to study him further. He has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and high on his cheeks. A scar about an inch and half in length runs just above the edge of his jaw. There is a badge pinned to the shoulder strap of his overalls, small and unassuming. Its text reads: Salvage is Salvation. Block caps. Silver on black.

AM206 understands the text, though the language and symbols printed on the boxes and machinery at the factory had always been a mystery. The only recognisable symbol was the ‘20’ at the end of his floor track. Alongside models 200 to 209, the track limited their movements to the pre-planned routes around the belts. AM206 cannot move at all currently. 

A vibration shudders through AM206’s circuits. A sound accompanies it: a high-pitched squealing that jumps and jolts. AM206 blanks its screen to communicate with the human the only way it knows how. _What is that sound? Why is it making my sensors flare with an unknown sensation?_

“I’m just scraping off your rust,” the human says. “Don’t worry.”

AM206 attempts to analyse the word ‘worry’ and how it might apply to this situation, but the scraping continues, focusing its every wire and process on the sound and the vibration directly applied. Rust. A flaking oxidisation of iron or steel. _How has this happened?_ He blanks his screen to ask, but the human doesn’t notice. The factory sterilised the AM models once every twelve hours. _How has_ — 

The scraping moves higher, closer to AM206’s open sensor panel. The sound has texture. If AM206 tries, it can delve into the sound and examine it, almost see the individual molecules of rust lifting from its alloy before they crumble and fall away. Alongside that sound are the vibrations AM206 is so sensitive to, each touch rippling through its circuits, identifying the exact place of contact. There is a dulled area below AM206’s monitor, five small points of touch that feel different. The human is touching there, and if AM206 chases that dullness, there is more than just a heartbeat. There is a link with the ground through the antenna-like human, currents and vibrations feeding through him from the rest of the building undercut by the hum of nearby power sources.

Exploring these new sensations and readings, AM206 feels a buzzing static seep in where the scraper makes contact, like electrical discharge. It bleeds through circuits and processors, sliding up into the back of its monitor section. The input jacks and sockets in its sensor panel begin popping and humming. The static increases, floods AM206’s entire build whenever the scraper moves across its bodywork.

“Oh,” the human says. The touch ends abruptly, and AM206 is left with its prior level of sensation. “Your monitor was flickering. Are you…” The human sighs. “You can’t answer. Hang on.” 

As the human walks out of range, AM206 senses the heat of his body leave with him. The vibration of his footsteps, the thrumming of his heart, tells AM206 that he remains close by. AM206 does not want him to leave. AM206 wants him back, wants his touch, his focus. 

When he returns, he slots something new into the cavity in AM206’s torso where its old circuitry used to be. 

“I was gonna wait a while ‘til I put this in,” the human says, shaking his head for a reason AM206 doesn’t understand. “You don’t have the right vocal processors yet, but try using your monitor.”

“AFFIRMATIVE,” AM206 says, though not aloud. The text appears as glowing pixels on its monitor, the greenish light filtering into its visual sensor as the human’s gaze snaps up to read it. It glints off the silver letters on the human’s badge and the reflective globes of his eyes.

The human smiles. “Aren’t you clever?” 

AFFIRMATIVE 

AM206 doesn’t know how the word appears. The need to communicate is there, alloy-deep. The screen translates what AM206 wants to say and even what it doesn’t. 

I DO NOT KNOW WHO YOU ARE  
I DO NOT KNOW WHERE I AM  
I DO NOT KNOW WHERE CC HAS GONE  
I DO NOT KNOW

“Hey, hey, calm down.” The human reaches out and touches AM206 just below its monitor. “Let’s take things slow, okay?”

OKAY  
AFFIRMATIVE  
YES

“Was anything wrong just now, when your monitor was flickering?”

I DID NOT KNOW MY MONITOR WAS FLICKERING

“Okay, well I’ll have to look into that. For now, I need to get you cleaned up so I can build you out. It’s gonna take a few weeks, but when I’m done you’ll be in a much better position to talk to me and I’ll be able to answer all your questions.” 

YES  
THANK YOU

The human’s smile crinkles the corner of his eyes. “You’re welcome.” 

Sliding the stripping knife from his overalls pocket, the human starts scraping at AM206’s rust again. The pleasurable static returns, building in intensity. 

YES  
YES  
YES  
THAT IS INTERESTING  
CONTINUE THIS  
PLEASE CONTINUE THIS  
YES  
I KNOW THAT I LIKE THIS  
THIS FEELS INTERESTING  
YES  
THIS F5LO0}7*  
THIS FEELS

AM206’s visual sensor glitches briefly. When it returns to normal functionality, the human is reading AM206’s monitor, his brown eyes glistening.

“A greedy one for touch, eh?” He chuckles and sweeps his fingers through his hair again. “Just you wait until I get the wire brush.” 

WHY MUST I WAIT

The human chuckles again. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”


End file.
